


Everyone But You

by parentaladvisorybullshitcontent



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent/pseuds/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent
Summary: “I know he's with someone else and they're getting married, but part of me just wants to show up with someone else like I don't give a shit.”If Phil was in control of all of his faculties – namely common sense – this is when he'd repeat what he's already said about how Dan doesn't have to go to the wedding if he doesn't want to.But common sense has always kind of passed Phil by on the breeze, so what he says instead is, “I'll go with you.”In which the love of Dan’s life is getting married to someone else, and Phil might’ve agreed to be his plus-one at the wedding





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow, vicky's back on her bullshit again? so soon?? yes my dudes I have returned and I'm only posting this to force myself to write it (how long did I last after the vampire au?? two weeks??? three???? do I hate myself this much????)
> 
> mistakes abound. I'll check later, you know me. I'm awful. This is inspired by the movie My Best Friend's Wedding, which is awesome and you should watch it
> 
> title is a song by the front bottoms (bc I'm also back on my bullshit of naming fics after songs even though this didn't work out for me last time)

“Mr Lester.”

 

Phil is not playing Candy Crush at his desk. He isn't. He absolutely is not abusing his current position as acting department manager with an actual office to himself and a big fancy computer to play Candy Crush. He's just not that kind of guy.

 

“Mr Lester.”

 

Alright, maybe he's exactly that kind of guy. And it's not working out well for him, at all.

 

“Come on,” He says. He's been stuck on this level for two days now and when he closes his eyes to sleep he swears he sees those dumb stripy beans behind his eyelids. “Come on, come on-”

 

The knocking on the glass partition goes from polite to insistent. Phil's phone skitters out of his hand and lands under his desk with a sad thump.

 

Phil looks up, guiltily, to find Marianne standing at the door, looking less than impressed. He waves haphazardly to let her know it's ok to come in, then shifts in his (big, fancy) seat and tries to look like he's one hundred percent work-focused this morning.

 

“Morning,” Marianne says when she walks into the room, shutting the door safely behind her.

 

There's something about the way Marianne says _morning_ , like she's not just greeting him but she's also reminding him of how much time there is ticking away ever-so-slowly until lunchtime. Behind her Phil can see Ryan and Mark aiming screwed up memos at the mini basketball hoop Paul had set up over the paper recycling bin.

 

Marianne sets a heavy file down on his desk, so heavy that his coffee cup from an hour ago tinkles a little.

 

“This is from Sales. You have twelve emails you're not reading, a call from Mr Liguori at one and I'm guessing you still didn't get past that level on Candy Crush.”

 

Phil stares at her. Ever since PJ temporarily went on leave or took a sabbatical or whatever it is big-shot boss type people do (“Sleep in and play Animal Crossing,” PJ had told him, when Phil had asked him his plans), he's been dealing with Marianne, who Phil had mistakenly thought was PJ's PA. After two reluctant weeks on the job he's now inclined to believe that Marianne is the one who's actually in charge around here. Either that or a magical being of some kind. Most days Phil leans towards thinking the latter.

 

A muffled cheer rings out from beyond the glass partition that separates him from the main office – looks like Jenny just managed to get a memo through the hoop.

 

“I,” Phil says. “I don't. I.” He can't lie to Marianne. There's something steely about her gaze, something that makes him think she could probably stuff him in a reasonably sized holdall and throw him in the Thames if the mood took her. “I'm sorry. I. You know I don't understand half this stuff, right?”

 

“Yes,” Marianne says, patiently.

 

“Wow, ok,” Phil says, laughing a little at her bluntness.

 

“But I trust Mr Liguori's judgement.” She pauses, her forehead wrinkling. “Sometimes. I trust his judgement sometimes.”

 

Phil wonders if she's remembering the time PJ tried to implement Dress Up Fridays, a dress down Friday alternative that involved everyone coming to work in elaborate costumes.

 

“If he thinks you can do this, so do I.”

 

“Thank you,” Phil says, surprised. “I, er. Thanks.”

 

She looks at him for a moment.

 

“Those are just copies,” She says, nodding to the cup-trembling file she'd set down on his desk. “Dennis sent them up expecting you to read through them, but chances are he hasn't read through them either. It's boring,” She adds, when Phil frowns. “If you just send an email saying you've checked everything and it's all fine, that'll do it.”

 

“But shouldn't I...?” Phil touches the file. “What if there's something wrong in there and – and it's my fault?”

 

“You're the last link in the chain,” Marianne says with a shrug. “You can say you were busy and you thought Dennis would've given them his full care and attention. Just this once,” She adds. “When you get used to it, it'll be easier.”

 

“Oh,” He says. “Thanks.”

 

Marianne nods.

 

“Also, er,” She pauses in the doorway. “Someone called for you. Don't know how they got the number. Dan Howell? Said it was important.”

 

“Oh,” Phil says, again. “Oh, ok. Are you sure about the...?” He gestures at the file.

 

“Just this once,” Marianne says, a warning tone in her voice. He thinks maybe she's on the way to smiling before she ducks out of the room and disappears across the office.

 

Sighing, Phil picks up his phone off the carpet. He scowls at Candy Crush, closes the app and calls Dan.

 

-

 

“I spoke to your secretary,” Dan says, instead of hello. “That how fancy you are now? I have to go through your secretary?”

 

“She's not my secretary,” Phil says. “And if she heard you say that she'd probably break your legs.” He pauses. “What's up?”

 

Dan breathes down the phone line for a moment, sounding a little shaky. For a moment Phil thinks this is one of those times – those times when Dan questions everything he thinks he knows about the world and just needs someone to talk to.

 

“Dan?” Phil says, stomach already clenching with worry.

 

“Darren called,” Dan says. “You remember Darren, right?”

 

Does Phil remember Darren? Does Phil remember the guy he's never met, the guy who Dan went to university with, the guy who swept Dan off his feet when he was young and stupid, the guy whose Facebook Dan stalks when he's exceptionally drunk, waving pictures of some generically handsome man in Phil's face and getting all teary eyed?

 

Does Phil remember the great love of Dan's life, the guy he knows for a fact he can never measure up to? Yeah, maybe a little.

 

“The – the guy from uni, right?” Phil says, trying for nonchalance.

 

Dan's answering laugh is small and sad.

 

“He's getting married,” Dan says, and he sounds devastated. “I – I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call, I know you're busy and I – I dunno, I -”

 

“I'll meet you,” Phil says, immediately. “Where are you? I can take my lunch early, it's ok.”

 

“No, no, you don't have to, it's fine, I'm-”

 

“Where are you?” Phil insists, already turning his monitor off.

 

“I'm, uh,” Dan sounds bashful. “Outside. Sorry.”

 

One wall of Phil's office is just a giant window, and sure enough when he walks over there and looks down at the street below he can see Dan, hunched over leaning against a bollard, a black speck against the greyish pavement.

 

“I'm on my way down,” Phil says, and hangs up.

 

-

 

He hugs Dan for a long time outside the office. Maybe he shouldn't – he doesn't know the rules of being in charge, not really – maybe physical affection just isn't allowed when you're the boss, what does he know? All he knows for sure is that he'd taken one look at Dan's face when he'd rushed out of the automatic doors and he couldn't just let him stand there looking like that, face pale and splotchy and his hair all over the place.

 

“It's ok,” He says, meaninglessly, stroking Dan's back through his coat. “It's ok, it's ok.”

 

“I'm so stupid,” Dan says, so quietly that Phil almost doesn't hear him over the drone of passing cars.

 

“No, you're not,” Phil says, aching a little for him. He pulls back and Dan's eyes are red and puffy but he isn't crying. “You're really not. Come on. We're gonna eat so much you won't even remember this guy when we're done.”

 

“That's not how food works, Phil,” Dan tells him, but he smiles and lets Phil hook their arms together, so Phil takes it as a win.

 

-

 

They end up eating in the park, drinking milkshakes in the shade of a tree that rains blossoms into their fries.

 

“It's inconvenient but aesthetic,” Phil says, brushing pink petals off his burger before he takes a bite. Dan's taking a photo of the branches up above on his phone and Phil just looks at him for a moment, wearing too many layers of black for the mild spring day they're having, looking like he hasn't slept a wink.

 

He's beautiful.

 

Phil hates that he thinks so. He's tried to talk himself out of it, tried to go on dates with people who were perfectly nice and kind and friendly, people who made him laugh and who liked the same things as him. He'd tried to obliterate the feeling, sweat it out like a fever, hope against hope that it'd go away or fade, but it hasn't. Phil's starting to think it never will.

 

“They disappear, like, really quickly,” Dan's saying, snapping more photos of the blossoms. “That tree by my flat was really pretty for about ten minutes and then they all died.” Phil expects him to come out with some wry joke about the fleeting nature of existence but instead he turns the phone on Phil. “Smile.”

 

“Dan,” Phil protests, fairly certain he has ketchup on his face. Dan just laughs. “Delete that, oh my God.”

 

“It's great, I'm keeping it,” Dan says, and locks his phone in favour of digging through blossoms to eat his own fries. His face falls a little. “Sorry for dragging you out of work like this.”

 

“Dragging me,” Phil repeats. He sets his burger down and picks up his milkshake, waving the cup so it sloshes around a little. “This is a peanut butter milkshake. Nobody needs to be _dragged_ anywhere for a peanut butter milkshake.”

 

“You say that now, Mr Lactose Intolerant,” Dan teases. “I'll check in with you later when you're throwing up.”

 

Phil just flips him off while he drinks an especially big gulp of milkshake. It's worth it for the way Dan laughs again, rolling his eyes.

 

“It's honestly fine, though,” Phil says, a moment later. “I'm allowed an early lunch, and – and if you need me, I'm always gonna...” He trails off, feeling like the words are hitting too close to home. “I'm always here, that's all.”

 

Dan looks at him, expression inscrutable, then bites a fry in half.

 

“It's stupid,” He says, softly. For a second, Phil thinks he means _him_ , _he's_ stupid, and his heart seizes up in his chest, but Dan's gaze is soft and distant, not looking at Phil. “It's not like...We haven't spoken in months, and we haven't seen each other for longer than that, but. I always thought it'd be me and him someday, you know? The way we always kind of talked about. I dunno. It's so stupid.”

 

“It's not,” Phil says. His chest hurts a little, and all he can do is parrot the same unhelpful phrases people always say in situations like this. “You can't help how you feel, Dan.”

 

“I'm gonna have to help it pretty fast,” Dan says. “The wedding's next weekend. He invited me. Some big place in the country, like. Fancy as hell. The girl he's marrying's really rich, I guess.”

 

“You don't have to go,” Phil says, consolingly. Dan looks far from convinced. “You don't! Make an excuse. Say your cat broke its leg or something.”

 

“I don't have a cat.”

 

“Say _you_ broke your leg, then,” Phil says. “You don't _have_ to go.”

 

“I already said I would,” Dan says, with a humourless smile. “I just froze up when he told me. Panicked. Said of course I'd go, it'd be so much fun, so great to see him after all this time...” He shakes his head, bitterly. “I just. I wish I could show up there just, like. Looking amazing, you know? I know it's stupid, I know – I know he's with someone else and they're getting _married_ , for fuck's sake, but part of me just wants to show up with someone else like I don't give a shit.”

 

If Phil was in control of all of his faculties – namely common sense – this is when he'd repeat what he's already said about how Dan doesn't have to go to the wedding if he doesn't want to.

 

But common sense has always kind of passed Phil by on the breeze, so what he says instead is, “I'll go with you.”

 

Dan looks at him, loose petals caught in his hair, and Phil feels himself flush.

 

“I – I mean,” He hurries. “I don't think you _should_ go, at all, not if it'll just upset you, but if you want to and you don't want to go alone, then I can – I don't mind -”

 

“No,” Dan says, thoughtfully. “No, I – I couldn't ask you to do that. It's gonna be _awful_ , Phil.”

 

“I know,” Phil says. “But if you want to go maybe having someone else there will help.” He pauses. “It doesn't have to be me, it's-”

 

“Oh, come on, who else am I gonna ask?” Dan says, wryly. “You're the only person I can trust not to run a mile about how lame I am.”

 

“You are exceptionally lame,” Phil tells him, just because he knows it'll make him smile. He's not disappointed.

 

“Fuck off,” Dan says, fondly. His smile fades a little. “You'd really do that? Come with me to this thing?”

 

Phil nods. He feels like everything in him is yelling at him to say no, to make an excuse, to take it all back. But Dan's tired, and sad, and even if all he sees in Phil is someone who he can safely be lame in front of, it's better than nothing at all.

 

-

 

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” PJ tells him, helpfully, during their 1pm phone call.

 

“I know,” Phil says, gloomily, looking out of the office window. Grey clouds are blowing across the sky – Dan said he was walking home. Phil hopes he gets there before the heavens open. “I just. He's so upset about it. I dunno.”

 

“You don't seem to have, like, considered how upset _you're_ gonna be at this thing.”

 

“I'll be fine, I-”

 

“Phil.”

 

Phil closes his eyes.

 

“It'll go away eventually,” He says, weakly. “People, they – they fall for the wrong person all the time, that's – it's -”

 

“Yeah, the _wrong_ person,” PJ says, meaningfully, but doesn't elaborate. “I can go with him if you want. I'd make a great fake boyfriend.”

 

“That's not,” Phil feels himself grow hot. “It's – I'm not going to be his _fake boyfriend_ , I'm going as support.”

 

“Except everyone's gonna assume you're his boyfriend,” PJ says. “That's why he wanted someone to go with him. It's, like, ambiguous. You show up at a wedding with someone, chances are you're together. Who takes their friend as a plus one to a wedding? Much less the wedding of someone they're in love with?”

 

Phil doesn't know what to say to that for a moment. Behind him in the office he can hear more cheers – someone else got a memo through the hoop, he guesses.

 

“It'll be fine,” He says after a moment, sounding more convinced than he feels.

 

“Phil,” PJ says, evidently not buying Phil's fake confidence for a second.

 

“It's – I'm helping him out, that's all. It's one day, even I can manage that.”

 

-

 

“It's not just one day,” Dan says.

 

He's lingering in the kitchen doorway at Phil's flat when he says it, hair wet from the shower. The water pressure in Dan's flat is abysmal – Phil knows that from personal experience – so Phil had offered him the use of his shower. It's like how if they're watching movies they do it at Dan's because Dan has a better TV. They just split things between them like that. Phil tries not to dwell on it.

 

“Sorry?” Phil's prodding at the sauce in the pan in front of him, uncertainly. “What is this?”

 

“Tomato,” Dan says. He rubs at his head with a towel then gives up, slinging it over his shoulder in favour of joining Phil at the stove. “I was gonna, like. Cook pasta. You have cheese.”

 

“Gimme all the dairy,” Phil says, absent mindedly.

 

“In for a penny,” Dan says, with a shrug. Phil turns the heat down and stirs the sauce, not trusting himself to look at Dan when he's fresh from the shower, even when he's fully clothed again, soft leggings and an overlarge t-shirt, same as he always wears when he inevitably ends up staying over. “The wedding, I mean. Turns out it's not just one day. It's, like, a four day rich person thing.”

 

“Four days?” Phil has to look at him then, just to boggle at him. “For one wedding? Why four?”

 

“I dunno,” Dan says. He's gnawing on the dry skin on his bottom lip, a habit that reminds Phil of all the tubes of lip balm he's bought him over the years, but he doesn't seem upset. “Capitalism?”

 

“Jesus.” Phil goes back to prodding the sauce. “Are you sure about this, Dan?”

 

“A hundred percent,” Dan says, confidently. When Phil looks at him he adds, “Once we add the cheese it's gonna blow your mind.”

 

“I don't mean the sauce. I mean the wedding, the – the four day rich person thing.”

 

Dan just keeps biting his lip, leaning against the counter. His hair's a mess, sticking up all over the place. Phil clenches his hand into a fist around the wooden spoon in his hand to force down the urge to reach up and fix it for him.

 

“Yeah,” He says, after a moment. “I wanna – it's like going to a funeral, isn't it, you, like, can't process the loss properly unless you go. So I just have to,” He gestures, vaguely. “Go.”

 

“We can leave at any time,” Phil tells him. Privately he makes a mental note to call PJ and beg for the extra time off, an endeavour he doesn't even know will actually pay off yet.

 

There's something soft about the look on Dan's face when he says, “You really don't have to come with me, you know.”

 

“I know,” Phil says. Dan's stupid bottom lip is bleeding a little from all the biting and his hair's a mess and Phil just can't look at him at all, has to tear his gaze away and look back down at the least promising pasta sauce in existence. “You'd better fetch that cheese, this is starting to look beyond help.”

 

-

 

That night, Phil can't sleep.

 

Dan's on the sofa. Dan always sleeps on the sofa – Phil's never wanted to suggest otherwise. He'd tried to make Dan take the bed the first few times he stayed over, but Dan had staunchly refused if it meant Phil slept on the sofa.

 

“It's comfortable,” Phil had protested.

 

“Alright, yeah, great, so I'll sleep on it.”

 

“No, no, it's -”

 

“You're not sleeping on the sofa in your own flat, Phil.”

 

And that had been that, even though some nagging part of Phil's brain that sounds a lot like his mum always cringes when he's fetching Dan blankets, feeling like he's being the worst host in the world.

 

But it's good. Dan sleeping on the sofa is good. It shatters the illusion that – well, that they're more than two good friends spending time together. Phil needs that. He can pretend in his head when they're watching TV with the lights low, Dan's feet propped up in Phil's lap and their arms touching on the back of the sofa. He can pretend when their touches linger and something about Dan's eyes softens when Phil catches his eye. God, he can pretend.

 

When the bedroom door closes behind him, the pretence is over. Phil's grateful for that.

 

It could still go away, he tells the ache deep inside him that has nothing to do with hunger or illness. It could still be fine. He wants to be Dan's friend, wants it more than anything – at this point he doesn't really know who he'd be _without_ Dan as a friend.

 

It's that thought that strengthens his resolve, always. Tonight it does nothing to assuage the worry that feels like it's twisting his insides into knots.

 

_You don't seem to have considered how upset_ you're _gonna be at this thing_ , PJ had said.

 

He's right. PJ might be outlandish and eccentric in a lot of ways, and he might've once come into work for three Fridays in a row dressed as Link, but he's not stupid. Phil _hadn't_ thought about whether going with Dan would upset him – no, he'd just taken one look at Dan's pale, tired face, his red eyes and slumped shoulders, and jumped without bothering to look first.

 

Phil grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes in the dark. He'll get through it. He has to. If anyone asks if he and Dan are together, he'll just answer honestly – they're not. He's just going to the wedding as support, that's all. He can get through that.

 

Even if the thought of actually meeting the mysterious Darren makes him want to throw up. Mysterious Darren, perfect and handsome enough that Dan's still in love with him all these years later. Perfect enough that Phil could never hope to compare.

 

“Shut up shut up shut up,” Phil mumbles to himself in the dark, and turns over, forcing his eyes shut tightly.

 

He lies awake for a long time, his brain buzzing like there are a dozen flies between his ears.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering this update took so long you'd think I'd be happier with it. oh well. Thank you so much to anyone reading this, or anyone who's commented or left kudos so far <3 I really want to get back to replying to comments (I've become so terrible at it) but until then I just want to say that receiving them makes my day and you're all wonderful <3 <3
> 
> on with the show

“Be honest,” Phil says, surveying the clothes laid out on his bed despairingly. “If you saw me in this suit would you be impressed?”

 

PJ yawns. Phil watches him on the phone screen, eyes mostly closed, face half-mashed into his pillow.

 

“I like suits,” He says, uselessly. Phil sighs. It'd been a mistake to call this early in the morning. “I – I -” He yawns again. “You're gonna look great no matter what, Phil.”

 

“I dunno if great is good enough.”

 

In truth he _knows_ it isn't good enough. In truth part of him – a weak, pathetic part of him – has this notion that if he dresses well enough on this trip, if he's charming and gentlemanly and makes Dan laugh more than usual, that Dan might look twice at him, the way he does sometimes when they go out for dinner and someone pretty waltzes past their table.

 

It's never gonna happen. He knows that really. They're going to the wedding of someone Dan's been in love with for years and years, of course it's not going to happen.

 

It's not enough to crush the stupid hope burning warm in Phil's chest. It's not enough to stop him imagining scenarios where he confesses his feelings and Dan somehow realises he felt the same all along, and _perfect Darren_ has nothing on Phil after all.

 

Perfect Darren. That's exactly the problem. Phil isn't perfect. He's older than Dan and he has eye bags and forehead wrinkles and he dyes away his grey hairs. If a grey hair ever tried to grow on Darren's head it'd probably shrivel and fall out all by itself.

 

“I still don't think you should do this,” PJ says, startling him out of his reverie. “I just – it's the worst idea.”

 

Phil just shakes his head. Stubbornness is one of his worst qualities, his mum always said that.

 

“I'm doing it anyway,” He says, firmly. “Now what do you really think of the suit?”

 

PJ groans and buries his face in his pillow.

 

-

 

“I like your suit,” Dan says, when Phil gets home from work the next day.

 

Ordinarily, coming home from a long day to find Dan cooking in the kitchen is Phil's idea of bliss. He likes the fact that Dan has a key to his flat (“In case I die suddenly and get eaten by cats,” Phil had said when he'd first handed it over, laughing at Dan's protests that he didn't _own_ any cats). He likes that Dan comes over sometimes and curls up on the sofa under a blanket. Against his better judgement he likes the idea that his flat is _their_ place, somewhere they can be together, almost like they both live there.

 

Today though, he kind of just wants to be alone. Today he spent too much time staring out of the window and mulling over the situation he's managed to get himself into, PJ's words of warning ringing in his ears. Today seeing Dan in a stupid oversized black t-shirt that has artful rips in the shoulder and probably cost more than half of Phil's own wardrobe makes him want to run out of the room and barricade himself into his bedroom so he can be by himself.

 

“Sorry?” Phil asks.

 

“Your suit. Saw it hanging on the door. Also hi,” Dan says, brightly. He's listening to music and he leans over and turns it down, phone sitting on the windowsill next to Phil's ill-fated collection of cacti. “I texted you.”

 

Phil might've turned his phone off at midday to stave off the Candy Crush cravings, and also to avoid talking to Dan.

 

“Sorry,” Phil repeats. “I, er. Long day, and. I had my phone off. That smells good.”

 

Dan's worried expression is quickly replaced with a smile.

 

“Stir fry,” He says. “I got the stuff and then, like...I dunno, I bought too much for just me.” His smile fades a little. “I should've – I can go, if you want? You look exhausted.”

 

“No, no, it's ok,” Phil says, quickly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I'm just – I'll just – shower.”

 

-

 

He feels better when the bathroom door's safely locked behind him and he's methodically hanging a clean shirt and his least pyjama-like pyjama pants on the radiator.

 

It's stress, that's all. He's overthinking the situation, overthinking the possibility that he has to pretend to be Dan's boyfriend. But Dan hadn't even asked him to do that, and Phil had only offered to go as moral support.

 

Perhaps it's the imaginary presence of Darren that's making everything worse. Before this whole thing Phil had barely thought of him, mainly because Dan mentioned him so infrequently. Now he's larger than life, a shadow looming over all of Phil's idle thoughts. He can't easily ignore the fact that Dan's in love with someone else now, not when the guy's wedding is in a matter of days and the pair of them are going to be there.

 

Against his better judgement, he surveys his reflection. A too-pale, too-tired man looks back at him. He furrows his brow just so he can check on the progress of the wrinkles on his forehead, squinting so the lines around his eyes are more pronounced. Grimacing, he stops and looks away, shaking his head at himself.

 

-

 

After dinner, they end up watching something on Netflix on the sofa. Dan says he's cold so Phil throws him a blanket, and they're mostly quiet for a long while.

 

“I'm keeping you up,” Dan says, when Phil yawns.

 

Phil shakes his head.

 

“It's still early.”

 

Dan just looks at him, face golden in the lamplight.

 

“Something's up today,” He says, shrewdly. “Did something happen at work? Did you get the hang of it yet?”

 

“Nah, it's fine,” Phil says, and shrugs. “I'll be happy when Peej comes back, but it's ok.”

 

“So what is it, then?” Dan asks, and prods Phil's thigh with his socked foot.

 

Phil looks at him – at how he looks in this light, like he's glowing somehow. He wishes he could take a photograph. He wishes he could reach out across the back of the sofa where Dan's hand is idly tapping and catch his fingers with his own.

 

He wishes he could say, _hey, I know I'm the one who suggested going to this wedding with you but it's days away and the thought of seeing you pining over some guy who probably has really defined arm muscles is stressing me out, to be honest_.

 

Instead he shrugs and says, “Just tired.”

 

“So I really am keeping you up,” Dan says, pulling a face. “I'm sorry, I'll – I should -”

 

“You can stay over,” Phil says, abruptly. “Like. On the – on the sofa, of course.”

 

He flushes just because he's never nervously clarified that before – of _course_ he means the sofa, Dan always sleeps on the sofa when he stays over. He ignores the twitch of Dan's eyebrow at his words, because he's probably also wondering why the hell Phil felt the need to make sure he knew he wasn't offering him his _bed_ , Jesus Christ.

 

“I'll get you some more blankets,” He says, awkwardly, and gets up, just so he can privately shake his head at himself as he digs through the cupboard in his room.

 

-

 

He feels better the next morning. In fact he feels terrible, worried that for all his attempts to hide it Dan had noticed that he'd been in a bad mood. In the pale morning light leaking through his bedroom blinds, everything immediately seems better. It turns out all he needed was some sleep and then a cup of coffee, handed to him the second he stumbles into the kitchen, yawning and itching the back of his head. He leans against the side and buries his nose in the mug, managing a few scalding sips before he blinks and rubs sleep from his eyes and focuses on Dan, perched next to the sink with a glass of orange juice.

 

Phil only bought the orange juice because Dan likes it. He blinks at the glass, glinting in the early morning sunlight, feeling stupid and slow.

 

“Did you sleep alright?” Dan asks, cheerfully. There's something manic about the twitching of his hands and the way he's rhythmically kicking the kitchen cupboards with his heels that makes Phil think he didn't sleep very much at all. “Don't worry, I'll wait 'til you've finished that.” He waves his free hand in a vague gesture that Phil thinks might mean _I know you need caffeine to function_.

 

Phil makes a grateful noise in the back of his throat and finishes his coffee. He's in the process of making another one and reaching for the cereal when he finally asks if Dan actually got any sleep last night.

 

Dan blinks.

 

“I was reading-”

 

“Wikipedia,” They say simultaneously.

 

“What was it this time?”

 

“Fruit bats,” Dan says, stretching. “Their life cycles, and stuff. They're so cute.”

 

“Mmm,” Phil says. He pours himself a bowl of bran flakes and hands the box to Dan. Dan pulls a face and Phil laughs at him. “You know, interesting Wikipedia entries are still interesting at, like, three in the afternoon. Even lunchtime. Even,” He pauses. “At a reasonable hour in the morning. So I've heard.”

 

“Ha ha,” Dan says, rolling his eyes as he pours himself a bowl of bran flakes. “This is tragic, I'm gonna get you that cookie cereal you like.”

 

Phil bites back a response about how Dan probably has perfectly good cereal at home that he'd enjoy more. He just watches him shuffling over to the fridge to fetch the milk, stealing a grape from the packet in Phil's veg drawer as he goes, looking for all the world like he belongs here. Like he belongs with Phil.

 

“What?” Dan asks, when he catches Phil staring. He smiles, and Phil feels himself flush hot, tearing his gaze away to the bowl of dry cereal in front of him.

 

“You owe me new grapes,” He says, stupidly, which sets them off on a stupid bickering match about grape theft that lasts all the way through their breakfast.

 

It stops Phil from overthinking everything anyway, if only for a little while.

 

-

 

“Tell him to stop coming over,” PJ suggests, during their phone call that afternoon.

 

They'd implemented it as PJ's way of making sure that Phil's brain isn't about to leak out of his ears on the job, but Phil's pretty sure they haven't discussed work during it since PJ left. He doesn't want to think about the sort of disapproving look Marianne would give him if she found out.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Dan,” PJ says. “You guys need space. _You_ need space. You have to tell him to stop coming over.”

 

“But,” Phil says. The thought makes him feel cold, somehow. “I can't just tell him to fuck off, Peej.”

 

“I didn't say tell him _that_ ,” PJ says. “But you need space, and – and having him around is stressing you out-”

 

“Not all the time,” Phil protests. “It's just – it's this whole thing, it's just-”

 

“Either that or you tell him how you feel.”

 

Phil feels like all the air got sucked out of the room at that.

 

“No,” He says.

 

“You might feel better if you do.”

 

Phil's already shaking his head halfway through PJ's sentence, even though Peej can't see him.

 

“No no no, I'm – no, that's not -” He swallows, feeling too hot all of a sudden. “I said I'd wait it out and it'd go away eventually. That's what I always said.”

 

“Right,” PJ says, slowly. “And how's that working out for you so far?”

 

Phil doesn't say anything. He thinks he can hear his pulse thudding in his ears.

 

“I don't mean you _have_ to tell him, like, right this second,” PJ says, after what feels like a very long time. “I know it's not that easy.”

 

“It's not,” Phil agrees, gratefully.

 

“But I'm just...it's been a long time.”

 

Phil swallows, his mouth dry. He knows it's been a long time. Does PJ think he doesn't know? It's been a long time of listening to Dan talk about other people, watching the way his eyes light up when he has a crush on someone, his smile big and beautiful. It's been a long time of just being _there_ , a nondescript part of the backdrop of Dan's life.

 

Not that he thinks Dan doesn't care about him. Dan's a great friend, he's Phil's _best_ friend, and he's a wonderfully caring person. It's just that Phil's pretty sure that he's been around for so long now that he's melted into the background of Dan's life like an old chair or a sofa cushion.

 

And that's without thinking about Darren. God, Phil wishes he could stop thinking about Darren.

 

“I'll talk to him,” Phil says. “About – just about not coming over so much. Maybe. After this wedding stuff's over with.”

 

“I really think it'd help,” PJ says, gently.

 

-

 

After the wedding stuff's over with, Phil thinks, later. Like it's that simple. Like getting through it will be nothing at all, a blip, a footnote in the margins of the next week.

 

He's leaving the office and the sun's touching the tops of the surrounding skyscrapers with pink and gold. There's a van in a nearby car park that's selling hot dogs and the smell of frying onions and the soft evening air makes him think of a thousand evenings spent at the fair as a kid, riding the waltzers until his legs were unsteady and his brain felt like it'd gone through a blender.

 

Phil loves spring. He loves summer too. A few summers ago, back when Dan had actually had a car for a little while, they'd driven for miles and miles to a lake in the middle of nowhere. There'd been a rusted skeleton of a burnt-out car in the dust, empty windows soot-blackened, but the air had smelled of flowers and cut grass. They'd eaten sandwiches at the water's edge and Dan had challenged him to a pebble skimming competition.

 

Phil remembers Dan had been gloating obnoxiously – because he'd beaten him at pebble skimming, of course. His smile had been wide and stupid and so _annoying_ , and Phil had just looked over at his eyes and his dimple and felt like a finger had just deliberately run along his heartstrings, like there was a harp sitting in his chest.

 

Phil thinks of texting Dan and asking if he remembers that day, and his hand's halfway to his pocket when he thinks better of it. He thinks it'd hurt too much if he'd forgotten.

 

-

 

Typically, because Phil has begun to dread the weekend, the week seems to pass through his fingers like dry sand. One second it's Tuesday and he feels like everything might be alright after all and the next it's Thursday and he and Dan are headed to the train station, Phil's mediocre suit rolled up in his holdall and probably developing a thousand creases.

 

“Four days for a wedding,” Phil says, when they're on the train, both of them in window seats with a table between them. “I don't get it.”

 

“Me neither,” Dan says. He's been quiet ever since he arrived at Phil's house that morning, subdued and pale, purple shadows under his eyes. “Tonight's when, like, when the rest of the groomsmen are showing up. He wants me to, like, meet his fiancée and whatever.”

 

“Ok,” Phil says, nodding. Privately, he's suspicious of Darren's motives for all of this. He hasn't seen Dan in over a year, hasn't spoken to him in a while and yet wants him to travel to the middle of nowhere to play an important role in his wedding?

 

The thought of him doing it as some ego trip, some joke, inviting a guy he knows is potentially still in love with him just for a laugh, makes Phil's blood boil, his hand involuntarily clenching into a fist on his lap.

 

“She's gonna be really nice,” Dan says, mournfully, shaking him from his reverie. He's picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his hoodie, shoulders hunched. “That's, like – that's it, isn't it.”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, helplessly, because he doesn't know what else he can say. When Dan doesn't look up from his sleeve, he adds, “There are other people, Dan. There's – there's a whole world of people out there.”

 

“But it's been _him_ for so long,” Dan says, voice small and sad. “It's – it's like I've been thinking about him for so long even if I didn't realise it, and now – now...” He shrugs, his mouth a thin line. “I dunno. It's stupid.”

 

“It's not,” Phil says, his throat feeling thick. Dan looks up at him and his heart kicks in his chest like a line of chorus girls, and all Phil can think is that they're somehow both feeling exactly the same way and yet he can't say a word to Dan about it. “Let's just...not go. We don't have to.”

 

Dan looks at him, then looks around them at the train carriage.

 

“Yeah, alright,” Phil says, rolling his eyes a little, just because he can't help it. “But we can get off at an earlier stop. Just go somewhere. Or get the next train home. You don't have to do this, Dan.”

 

Dan doesn't say anything for a moment.

 

“Nah,” He says, slowly. “It'd be dumb to just leave now. As long as you don't mind-?”

 

“Not at all,” Phil hears himself say, with far more conviction than he feels. “I'm right here, alright? The whole time I'll be right here. And – and if you wanna leave at any point then we'll just go, ok? No questions asked.”

 

“Ok,” Dan says, and smiles at Phil. There's something sad about his eyes, though, and Phil wishes he could touch Dan's hand, or shuffle his legs forward to nudge their knees together companionably. Instead he sits there, stock still, and wishes he could go home.

 

 _It's been him for so long_. Phil relates to that so much that it hurts.

 

-

 

Despite his misgivings, somehow it isn't until they arrive at the hotel where the wedding will be that Phil truly realises what he's got himself into.

 

It's an old stately home or something, the sort of thing Phil only ever normally sees in period dramas, with a long driveway and probably a fountain and a maze somewhere amongst all the greenery that surrounds it. As the cab approaches, crackling along the gravel, part of Phil expects to see a line of servants waiting outside the door. It's possible he might've seen too many reruns of Downton Abbey.

 

“This is expensive,” Dan says, voicing his thoughts better than he ever could. “Holy shit. This is – is it too late to leave?”

 

There's the ghost of a smile on his face when he says it but Phil isn't sure he's not serious.

 

“It's never too late,” He says.

 

Dan shakes his head. Phil knew he would.

 

“We've come this far,” He says. “Just got to get it over with.”

 

They pay the taxi driver, fumbling for change in their pockets, then end up standing adrift outside the hotel. The sound of birdsong floats over them, and the smell of freshly cut grass. Soft white clouds chase each other across the endless blue sky, and there's a second when Phil wishes that he and Dan were here just for themselves. He wishes that there was no impending wedding, no having to introduce himself to a host of strangers, no _Darren_. Just him and Dan in a hotel that's probably too fancy for the pair of them.

 

“I wonder if we'd get thrown out if we paddled in the fountain,” Phil says.

 

Dan's on his phone, biting his lip anxiously, and when Phil speaks he takes a moment to respond.

 

“Sorry?” Then, when he realises what Phil had said, he smiles. “How d'you know there's a fountain?”

 

“There must be in a place like this. Bet you a tenner.”

 

Dan snorts and says, “Yeah, alright. You probably Googled it before we showed up.”

 

“I swear I didn't,” Phil says. When Dan raises his eyebrows, he draws out a little x over his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

 

Dan looks at him.

 

“Fine,” He says. “I bet you an extra fiver you wouldn't paddle in it even if there is one.”

 

“Done,” Phil says, and laughs as they shake hands.

 

Dan grins at him, hand warm in Phil's grip.

 

“You're so-”

 

“Dan!” A voice says.  
  


Phil startles a little, Dan's hand slipping out of his as he turns to see the guy who's approaching them, smile wide and bright like a toothpaste ad.

 

“Darren,” Dan says, under his breath, as though Phil didn't already know.

 

He's very handsome.

 

It's not like Phil didn't expect him to be – it's not like every drunken foray into the guy's Facebook profile that Dan had dragged him into countless times hadn't prepared him for the fact that he's an extremely good looking guy. But it's one thing to squint at a collection of pixels on a phone screen and quite another to be faced with it in real life.

 

Phil feels intimidated. He feels himself shrinking back, metaphorically at least – physically he stays exactly where he is, standing next to Dan, who's fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his hoodie again.

 

“So good to see you, mate,” Darren's saying, and he and Dan exchange the awkward kind of back-slapping hug that screams _our relationship is one hundred percent heterosexual, as are we_. “And, er...” He looks at Phil, pausing uncertainly. Phil feels like he's in a movie as a side character – Darren would be the protagonist, from his perfect blonde hair right down to the endearing way he's hesitating.

 

“Phil.”

 

“Yeah, er, Phil,” Phil says, at Dan's prompt. “I'm, er, Phil.”

 

Darren raises his eyebrows but smiles and shakes Phil's hand.

 

“It's great to meet you, Phil,” He says, warmly. Then, turning to Dan, something like mischief in his eyes, he adds, “You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone.”

 

Dan goes bright red and starts stammering. Phil doesn't know what makes him do it – maybe the dumb stupid impulse that brought him here in the first place – but he touches Dan's arm, awkwardly, and says, “I-it hasn't been that long, really.”

 

Dan stares at him for a second that seems to stretch on for hours before he turns back to Darren.

 

“I, yeah,” He says. “Not that long. Didn't think to mention it.”  
  
“Not to worry,” Darren says, cheerfully, slapping Phil on the shoulder. “There's room for everyone. Let's get your stuff in, come on, and then _you_ can fill me in on everything I've been missing.”

 

That last part is directed at Dan, who's still blinking and gaping a little like an extremely surprised goldfish.

 

Phil shoulders his bag and slips his phone out of his pocket, dread already making his stomach clench uncomfortably.

 

 _I think I just fucked up really badly_ , he sends to PJ as he follows Dan and Darren into the hotel.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken me a month!!! Forgive me. And pls pls forgive me for never replying to comments, I'm a total piece of shit but I read all of them when they're posted and they all make me so happy, I'm just a procrastinating asshole (see: the fact that it took me a month to update this)
> 
> that being said, thank you all so much for reading, commenting or leaving kudos. It means so much to me <3 <3 you're all awesome and I hope you're having great days <3
> 
> shoutout to my super straight friend who took us on a spa day for her wedding. Little did she know I'd use the experience as inspiration for this

Pretending to be Dan's boyfriend that first afternoon could be much worse. Phil knows that. It's like the beginner level of fake dating – they don't touch each other much at all, no more than usual – in fact Phil's making a conscious effort not to touch Dan, hyperaware of the big adoring doe eyes he's directing at Perfect Darren.

 

No, that first afternoon is just a matter of Dan hesitating before he introduces Phil to all of these people Phil doesn't know, an awkward pause and an uncertain look before he says, “he's, uh, my boyfriend”, like an actor shoved into the spotlight having only glanced at the script for the first time five minutes beforehand. Which, Phil supposes, is exactly what he is.

 

“What the – what the hell?” Dan asks, in a hissed whisper, when they're shown to their hotel room, door safely shut behind them.  
  
“I don't know, I don't know,” Phil says, running his hands through his hair agitatedly.

 

“We – you didn't have to do that.”

 

“I know, I just – I panicked.”

 

“ _I_ panicked!”

 

“Yeah, I could tell,” Phil says. “That's – that's why I did it. I wanted to help.”

 

Dan sighs, and his shoulders slump, hand rubbing against the back of his head.

 

“You didn't have to,” He repeats.

 

“I know,” Phil says, needing him to understand. “Listen, it's just while we're here. You said yourself that you wanted to – to show up like you didn't care, or whatever. Well -” He gestures at himself, mediocre in every way in his blue shirt and the same jeans he always wears. “I can help, so.”

 

“It's only four days,” Dan says, uncertainly. It hurts a little how it's like he's trying to talk himself into it, like even just pretending to be with Phil for a matter of days is something he has to force himself into.

 

“It's only four days,” Phil agrees, heart feeling heavy.

 

He can't look at Dan then – at how handsome he looks in his stupid oversized shirt and his ugly hoodie – so he looks away instead, around the hotel room – more specifically, at the bed. One bed for the two of them. Phil loves that his life has become a tragic romantic comedy.

 

“This is nice,” He says, hoping the strain doesn't come through in his voice. “We can steal all the shampoo as compensation.”

 

“Shampoo? That's weak. I'm going big. Gonna take all the towels,” Dan says, and when Phil looks over at him he's shrugging his hoodie off and smiling, soft and genuine. “I'm glad you're here with me, y'know.”

 

“Me too,” Phil says, throat feeling tight.

 

-

 

The introductions to the groomsmen go by in a haze of clean-cut straight guys with the exact same hair and weirdly perfect jawlines. Phil instantly forgets everyone's names and feels like he shakes about forty hands, even though there aren't that many guys here. He just sticks to Dan's side, forcing himself to smile so much that his face aches a little.

 

“Some of the guys wanna go and play tennis,” Darren says, at one point, when they've been sitting in the bar of the hotel for a little while. “Before dinner. You guys must be tired from travelling, though, right?”

 

Dan looks at Phil and Phil looks back, and he can tell the exact instant that Dan's on the same wavelength as him, picturing the two of them attempting to play tennis and how much of a disaster it'd be. Dan laughs, and Phil grins at him.

 

“We, uh. Real tennis isn't – it's not our thing,” Dan explains, looking back at Darren with his eyes still bright with humour. “Wii Sports tennis, absolutely yeah.”

 

“Ah, ok,” Darren says, nodding in a way that makes it totally clear he can't relate in the slightest. “So how did you guys meet, anyway?” He leans forwards, evidently curious. “Sorry, Dan, it's just – you can't show up with a _boyfriend_ I've never heard about and not expect me to ask.”  
  
“It's ok,” Dan says, then looks at Phil, an almost frantic look in his eye.

 

Phil decides to go with the truth.

 

“Dan, er, he had this flatmate who had a cat,” He says. “This was, like, a long time ago. And um. The cat went missing and I found it, I guess.”  
  
“Yeah, he brought it back to the flat,” Dan says. “And Lucy was still out looking for it, so I ended up answering the door and – and it was a really hot day, like, really hot, and – and I invited him up to sit for a bit 'cause he looked like he was gonna die.”

 

“And you fed the cat and then I watched you play Call of Duty the whole afternoon,” Phil says, laughing a little. He looks over at Dan and Dan's smiling at him in this way that makes him feel warm, like he just took a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day.

 

“That sounds like Dan,” Darren says, fondly.

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, feeling his smile falter a little. He shrugs. “That's it, I guess.”

 

Darren nods.

 

“That's awesome,” He says. “I'm serious, that's – I mean, it's a story.”

 

Phil nods, then looks over at Dan, who's just giving Darren the big adoring moon eyes again.

 

“So how about you and...?” He falters. “Sorry, I don't-”

 

“Cathy,” Darren says, smiling. “That's, like. Nothing as cool and coincidental as you guys, um. I used to work for this event planning company and – and she was organising this big party for her dad's 60th.”

 

“God, I forgot you were in event planning,” Dan says.

 

“I _used_ to be in event planning,” Darren says. “Those days are gone.”

 

“That's got to be a nightmare,” Phil pipes up. It's like he can't let Dan and Darren just speak amongst themselves because he's too scared of what will happen, even though nothing possibly can. “I mean, like, this is an event, so...”

 

“Don't I know it,” Darren says. “I've been trying not to, like, micromanage, or anything. Cathy knows what she wants and I trust her, and – you know.” He waves his hands, vaguely, and pulls a face.

 

When Phil smiles, it's real and involuntary. Because awfully, horribly enough, Darren seems like a perfectly likeable guy. He has a way of talking that includes everyone, and even though he isn't the sort of person Phil would normally hang out with – if only because they move in different circles, he guesses – he's not bad to spend time with.

 

It's irritating. Phil had been hoping he'd be rude and arrogant and unbearable, because that'd make everything so much easier. As it is, he understands after about two hours with the guy why Dan likes him so much.

 

“He's nice,” Phil says to PJ. He'd slipped outside for a minute before dinner on the pretence of needing the bathroom, then had been too worried to actually call in the bathroom in case someone overheard him. He'd found a side hallway that came out into a covered garden, all crunching gravel and climbing plants. It's pretty, but the view is lost on Phil. “He's actually _nice_ , Peej.”

 

“Well, yeah,” PJ says, after a moment's silence. “He was always gonna be nice.”

 

“Yeah,” Phil says, sighing, knowing that he's right. Of course he's right. Dan wouldn't like someone who was horrible.

 

“It's not too late to leave.”

 

“It's exactly too late to leave,” Phil says, sighing. He can hear noises in the background. “What're you playing?”

 

“Mortal Kombat,” PJ says. “Got Scorpion on the ropes.”

 

In that moment Phil wishes he was there so much that it hurts, sitting side by side with PJ, blinds drawn against the sunlight.

 

“Give him a kick from me,” He says, gloomily. “I should get back.”

 

“Hey,” PJ says. “It's ok, you know? You're gonna eat a ton of free food and – and listen, Dan can't have him anyway. Like, that's the thing to take away from all this. He might be into him but there's nothing he can do about it.”

 

Phil wishes he could explain then, explain about how terrible it is to have to sit there and watch Dan loving someone – properly, really loving someone, eyes full of affection and smile soft and gentle just for them – and for it not to be Phil himself. Especially when it's someone like Perfect Darren, who's, well, perfect. In the few hours that Phil's known him he's already discussed the charity work he does in his spare time, earnestly and almost bashfully, and only when one of the other groomsmen brought it up. Phil wouldn't be surprised at all if the next time they spoke Darren revealed that he'd once saved a whole family of kittens from a burning building the previous week – he's just that kind of guy.

 

And that's without even thinking about how handsome he is. Most days Phil can look in the mirror and find _something_ he doesn't dislike about what he sees – he's too old not to have found at least one or two things about himself that he's pleased with – but now he's actually _seen_ Darren, and seen the way Dan looks at him, he thinks all he'll see when he looks at himself now are the ways that he can't possibly compare.

 

“You're right,” He ends up saying to Peej, because he doesn't want to burden him.  
  
“I'm always right,” PJ says, absently. Phil can hear more fight noises drifting from the TV. “I'm right here if you need me, ok?”

 

Gravel crunches across the courtyard and a guy in a blue t-shirt wanders around the building. Phil suddenly feels awkward, not sure if he's part of the wedding party and afraid to say something that gives him (or Dan, more importantly) away.

 

“Yep,” Phil says, and hangs up after a quick goodbye.

 

He stands for a moment, breathing in the smell of the nearby flowers, and trying not to worry too much that this guy who's reaching out to touch an ivy covered plant pot might've heard his whole conversation with PJ. He's about to turn and go back to Dan when the guy speaks to him.

 

“Hey,” He calls, too loudly for Phil to be able to pretend that he didn't hear. “Sorry, hi. Don't suppose you know where all the, like, groomsmen are, do you?”  
  
His pale blond hair's sticking up all over like he stuck his finger in a plug socket, and he seems young. Phil can't tell with ages anymore, but it feels like people are usually younger than him these days.  
  
“Ah, yeah,” He says, awkwardly. “I'm, er. Some of them have gone to play tennis, I think. Nobody's really organised yet.”

 

“Oh, so you're one of them?”

 

“Not – not really,” Phil says. “I'm – I don't know anyone here, I'm – I'm _with_ one of the groomsmen.”

 

“Ah,” The guy says. “I'm the bride's brother. Jamie,” He adds, and moves in to offer Phil his hand to shake.  
  
“Phil.”

 

They shake, and Jamie smiles at him.

 

“So you're a groomsman too?” Phil asks, for lack of other things to say.

 

“Eh,” Jamie says, with a non-committal twitch of his shoulders. “Cathy wouldn't have me as maid of honour.”

 

Phil laughs, and Jamie grins at him.

 

“That's a travesty.”

 

“Yep,” Jamie says. “I would've thrown rose petals going down the aisle and everything. Instead I'm stuck here playing beer pong with this lot.”

 

“Oh God,” Phil says. “You really think they'll play beer pong?”

 

Jamie sighs.

 

“I'd bet money on it,” He says. Catching the look on Phil's face, he adds, “Guessing your boyfriend didn't warn you there'd be that kind of thing?”  
  
“He didn't warn me about anything,” Phil says, studiously ignoring the funny little shiver he feels at someone referring to Dan as his boyfriend, no matter how wrong it is. “I only came for moral support.”

 

“Same,” Jamie says. “I mean, like. I know it's Cathy's wedding and all that, but I hate weddings.”

 

“Me too,” Phil says, automatically. _Especially when it's the wedding of the guy my fake boyfriend's hopelessly in love with_ , he thinks, desperately.

 

“I mean, like, I want one, don't get me wrong,” Jamie continues. “A wedding, I mean. I want the full thing, like, fancy cars, nice suits...whatever. Well, my fiancé does. He's a romantic.”

 

“Oh,” Phil says. “Is he...?”

 

He gestures, vaguely, as though the guy might pop up from behind a trellis.

 

Jamie shakes his head.  
  
“He's working. And I didn't pressure him to get out of it either. If I could get out of this I would.” He pauses. “Sorry.” He waves a hand next to his head. “I'm a major oversharer when I get going. I'll be telling you about the scar on my ankle in a minute.”  
  
“I've got one too,” Phil says, smiling. “Fell off my bike when I was ten.”

 

“Ah, nice,” Jamie says. “Mine was from falling out of a tree, I-”

 

“Phil?”

 

Phil turns, startled, to find Dan making his way down the hallway he'd come down to get here. He blinks in the sunlight, looking from Phil to Jamie with a confused frown.

 

“Sorry, I was gonna order but I didn't wanna do it without you,” He says, faltering a little like he usually does around strangers. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Jamie says, cheerfully, offering Dan his hand too. “Jamie, the bride's brother.”

 

“Dan,” Dan says, awkwardly shaking Jamie's hand.

 

“I'll come back in now, I was just calling PJ,” Phil says. “It was nice to meet you,” He adds, to Jamie. “The, er...if you go to the main desk you might be able to, er, check in and stuff.”

 

“Thanks,” Jamie says, smiling.

 

“Sorry,” Phil says, in an undertone, as soon as they're out of earshot. “I only went to call Peej for a second.”

 

“It's just your face,” Dan says, grinning. “It's like a big banner that says _I love to talk to strangers_.”

 

“True,” Phil says. It's so easy to forget how terrible he feels about this whole Darren thing when Dan's smiling at him like that. “I mean, look at the two of us.”  
  
It's weird to think that Dan used to be a stranger once – like remembering something he watched on TV a long time ago rather than something that actually happened to him.  
  
“You're not a stranger,” Dan says. “You're _strange_ , definitely. Not a stranger though.”  
  
“Shut up,” Phil says, and laughs.

 

-

  
Sharing a bed isn't nearly as awkward as Phil had thought it'd be.  
  
They've shared beds before, of course. It usually happens when they've been drinking, the pair of them too out of it to set up blankets on the sofa for each other. Phil just thinks he's been making it into such a big thing in his head that when he slips under the bedcovers with his phone in his hand he feels...fine.  
  
That's not entirely true. He lies there, scrolling through Twitter without really focusing, and listens to the rush of the shower in the adjoining bathroom. Dan's singing in there a little, humming under his breath and occasionally saying _ouch_ and laughing at himself.  
  
It's not a sexual thing. It's not. Not that Phil wouldn't _like_ to be in the shower with Dan if Dan wanted him there – not that he doesn't have to make a conscious effort _not_ to think about what Dan must look like right now, one room away. But it's the _fondness_ he feels for Dan that hits him more than anything, shifting in bed and listening to the patter of the water against the tiles. It's how he wishes he could say everything he's thinking, every thought he's had today about how good Dan looked, how much he cares about him and how when he's being cute and funny it almost hurts to be around him. It's how when the pair of them are around other people Phil feels so stupidly _proud_ to be with Dan, so full of feeling that he's sure it shines bright and obvious on his face.  
  
Phil sighs and locks his phone. He knows he should charge it but he can't be bothered rummaging through his bag, not when he's already in bed. He just sets it face down on the bedside table closest to him and presses his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

 

A few minutes later, the water stops. Dan opens the bathroom door, spilling light and the floral scent of shower gel into the darkened room.  
  
“Phil?”  
  
Phil pretends to be asleep. He doesn't even know why, he just doesn't think he can talk to Dan right now.  
  
He lies awake for a long time after Dan stops shifting restlessly next to him.

 

-  
  
The next morning, there's thankfully no beer pong as Jamie had darkly suggested. Instead there's a short drive in a minibus to a nearby spa, which is somehow even more nerve-wracking.

 

“I didn't bring swimming stuff,” Phil mutters to Dan when the pair of them are crammed in side-by-side on the bus. “Did you?”

 

Dan shakes his head.

 

“I'm not taking anything off,” He says. “Not a thing. Not even my socks.”

 

Phil snorts with laughter then. He can't help it – he'd experienced this image, crystal clear in his mind, of Dan sitting in a fancy lounger at the spa fully dressed, socked feet propped up, scowling with his arms folded. Dan grins at him, laughing too.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” He says, but Phil's feeling weirdly giggly today, and when Dan starts laughing properly the journey passes quickly, the pair of them shushing each other unsuccessfully and drawing stares from the other groomsmen.

 

“No worries, by the way, lads,” Darren says, when they pull into the drive of yet another stupidly fancy place. Dan puts a hand on Phil's arm for a second and Phil just knows it's because Darren said _lads_ without a hint of irony. “I brought a bag of swimming shorts for the lot of you. Different sizes. Thought some people might forget to bring theirs.”

 

His words are met with cheers – Phil's not surprised. This lot probably have the right physique to be completely fine with wandering around in swimming shorts all the time. Phil feels hot and uncomfortable at the thought of it.

 

Darren winks at Dan before he sits back down again. Phil feels a flash of sickening warmth – jealousy's always been his worst quality.

 

“ _Lads_ ,” He mutters under his breath when they get off the minibus, the pair of them straggling behind the rest of the group. “You really like someone who says _lads_ , just like that.”

 

He knows he successfully kept any bitterness out of his voice when Dan laughs.

 

“It's not like that,” He says, but when he looks like he's about to explain Darren approaches them waving a sports bag.

 

“Pick your shorts, guys,” He says, cheerfully. “I thought this up specifically for you.”

 

That last part is directed at Dan, who makes a big show of rolling his eyes and slumping his shoulders.

 

“Great,” Dan says, deadpan. “I feel so catered for.”

 

He rummages through the sports bag – by the looks of it all the shorts still have their labels on them, which is comforting at least. Phil wonders how much money Darren spent on just buying a bunch of shorts in different sizes. Even PJ wouldn't do that.

  
“Here,” Dan says, handing Phil some shorts too. Startled, he nearly drops them.

 

“Maybe I wanted to look myself.”

 

“Maybe I knew which ones you'd pick anyway,” Dan says, with a smile, and hands the bag back to Darren.

 

It's weird – it's like he's flirting. Phil doesn't know how to feel about it – especially considering it's almost definitely for show, so Darren believes that they're really together.  
  
Maybe he's trying to make Darren jealous. The thought makes Phil's stomach feel heavy, like his insides are full of lead.  
  
“Don't worry, Cathy does stuff like that to me all the time,” Darren says, giving Phil a consoling pat on the arm as they make their way into the spa.

 

-

 

It's not a bad way to spend the morning, by all accounts. They get given huge soft bathrobes to wear over their shorts, and Phil puts his on pretty much immediately. Dan does too, fastening his so tightly it's a wonder he can actually breathe.

 

The treatments are a little awkward – Phil likes the facial treatment, because he gets to keep the robe on and the hot towel is soothing on his skin. The massage is another matter entirely.

 

Massages always make him feel kind of exposed and strange, and that's made worse by the fact that they each get escorted alone down this weird, dimly lit corridor to the massage rooms. Phil feels like someone might jump through one of the closed doors any moment, like he's in a spy movie or something.

  
It's hard to relax when you're lying face down on a table while some stranger touches you. Phil has serious respect for people who leave massages feeling great and zen and all of that – he's just never really got it. His brain buzzes noisily the entire time and he doesn't lie properly on the table so his mouth ends up kind of mushed on the edge of the hole where his head's supposed to go. He feels too awkward to say anything about it so he just ends up tolerating it for the whole twenty minutes.

 

“You think _that's_ bad,” Dan says when Phil tells him about it afterwards, the pair of them mercifully reunited in the spa lounge. “I couldn't shut the fuck up the whole time. Seriously, I just kept making awkward small talk. I couldn't stop. _And_ he didn't even answer me.”

 

Phil laughs, nudging their bathrobe covered shoulders together.

 

“Small talk's not in his job description.”

 

“I know it's not,” Dan says, a little red faced. “Jesus Christ.” He rests his head on Phil's shoulder for a second, shuffling closer on the couch they're perched on. “I'm not cut out for the spa life.”

 

Phil looks at his bathrobe covered knees and doesn't think about how if they were dating for real he could turn now and kiss Dan on the forehead.  
  
  
  
“Me neither,” He says. “Hey, I heard someone say there was a pool, though. Paul said it. Peter. Perry? The guy with curly hair.”

 

“His name's _Steve_ , Phil,” Dan says, and laughs at him. The sound's so bright that Phil doesn't even mind, nudging him in the ribs and dislodging his head.  
  
  
  
“Shut up,” He says, laughing a little too. “Come on, let's go swimming.”  
  
  
  
“Right, yeah,” Dan says, smile fading a little. “I'm gonna get my kit off in public when everyone here's...”  
  
  
  
“Everyone here's what?” Phil prompts. When Dan pulls a face and doesn't say anything, he adds, “I'm here, too. And once you're in the pool nobody'll see you anyway-”

 

“ _I'm here, too_ ,” Dan mimics. “You've got nothing to be ashamed of, idiot, I've seen you without a shirt on.”

 

Phil feels his face prickle with heat at that, but he ignores it.  
  
  
  
“Well, the same to you,” He says, lamely, getting up. “Come on.”

 

He holds a hand out to Dan on instinct, just a way to help him get up from the low couch. He hates himself for doing it the second Dan touches him, a simple brush of fingers zinging through his whole arm like an electric shock.  
  
  
  
“You owe me big time,” Dan says, darkly, but he squeezes Phil's hand in his for a second before he lets go.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
They spend pretty much the rest of their time at the spa in the pool. It's probably the fanciest pool Phil's ever been in, with giant windows at one end that face a perfectly manicured lawn. A few people in white bathrobes stray across every now and then with cigarettes hanging from their fingers, but other than that and a few of the other guests passing through on their way to the sauna, it feels like they have the whole place to themselves.  
  
  
  
They're alone enough that Phil could almost pretend that they're here by themselves, just having a weekend away together.

 

“I'll race you,” Dan says at one point, swimming over to where Phil's floating like a starfish, watching the sunlight that shines through the windows dancing on the ceiling.  
  
  
  
“Race me where?” Phil says, stupidly.  
  
  
  
“One length of the pool, come on.”  
  
  
  
Phil rights himself, bobbing a little in the water, and instantly wishes he hadn't. Dan looks wonderful, of course, even with his hair wet, sunlight catching the water on his shoulders and collarbones and making his skin gleam.  
  
  
  
“You're on,” He says, trying to cover up how flustered he is.  
  
  
  
-

 

“A fluke.”  
  
  
  
“Nope, I'm just a better swimmer than you.”  
  
  
  
“Absolute total _fluke_!”  
  
  
  
“Shut up,” Phil says, grinning. He hadn't expected to win the race, to be honest, but now that he had he fully plans to lord it over Dan for the rest of the day.  
  
  
  
They turn the corner into the foyer of the spa, the pair of them thankfully dressed again, to find the rest of the groomsmen waiting around. Phil does his best to ignore the disappointment that sparks inside him. He'd forgotten for a second why they were actually here.  
  
  
  
“Should've snuck away while we had the chance,” Dan mutters, evidently on the same wavelength.  
  
  
  
“Thank God,” Darren calls. “We were beginning to think we'd lost you.”  
  
  
  
He waggles his eyebrows as he wanders over to pat Dan's shoulder, and Phil feels like he just got pushed unexpectedly into the sauna.  
  
  
  
“We were just swimming,” He says, awkwardly, words stuttering out of his mouth when Dan absolutely fails to say anything.  
  
  
  
“Hey, none of my business,” Darren says, and winks at the pair of them. “Come on, let's get back on the bus.”  
  
  
  
“What, is this when the drinking starts?” Dan asks.

 

Phil wonders if Darren can pinpoint the note of apprehension in his voice the same way he can.  
  
  
  
“Nope,” Darren says, slinging an arm around Dan's shoulders for a moment and pulling him into an awkward one-armed hug. “That's tomorrow.”  
  
  
  
“Great,” Phil says, trying to force himself to smile convincingly.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
They all end up having dinner together that night in the hotel dining room. It's an intimidatingly civilised affair, with Phil thankful at least that he gets to sit next to Dan.  
  
  
  
“Hello again,” Jamie says when they're sitting down, taking the seat on his other side.  
  
  
  
“Hey,” Phil says, surprised. He hadn't seen Jamie at the spa earlier, and he'd half wondered where he'd got to. “Where were you-?”  
  
  
  
“Oh, no way was I gonna go and spa with the straights,” Jamie says, pulling a face that makes Phil laugh. “How was it?”  
  
  
  
“Not bad, actually,” Phil says, honestly, looking at Dan. “We mostly swam.”  
  
  
  
“And made awkward small talk with the massage guy,” Dan adds, darkly.  
  
  
  
“Ah, another expert at awkward small talk,” Jamie says, with a grin. “I'm great at that, ask Phil.”  
  
  
  
“He is,” Phil says, smiling at Dan. There's a second when Dan doesn't smile back, a moment that's gone so quickly he's sure he imagined it afterwards.  
  
  
  
“No wonder you guys made friends,” He says, shaking his head fondly.  
  
  
  
Having Jamie there makes the meal more fun, somehow. He's the first of the groomsmen who Phil feels he actually might have something in common with, and it's nice to just talk to him. It's nice to see Dan talking to him, too – which he does, a lot, the pair of them laughing together.  
  
  
  
“Jealous type, is he?” Jamie asks, later. Phil had slipped away to the bathroom and Jamie walks in, catching him making sure his hair looks alright in the mirror.  
  
  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
  
  
“Dan,” Jamie says, joining Phil at the mirror and unselfconsciously fixing his own hair. “It's cute. _He's_ cute. Well done on that.”  
  
  
  
“I'm,” Phil says. “He's – _what_?”  
  
  
  
Jamie looks at him, expression disbelieving.  
  
  
  
“Come on, you didn't notice?” When Phil just looks at him cluelessly, Jamie shuffles over to him and starts exaggeratedly touching his arm and his shoulder. “Yeah, me and _Phil_ did that once. You like that, don't you, _Phil_? I got _Phil_ something like that for Christmas once-”  
  
  
  
“No,” Phil says, shrugging off Jamie's hands. “It's – no, he wasn't doing that.”  
  
  
  
He _had_ noticed Dan touching him a little more than he normally would, but he'd been so focused on the conversation and – well, on how good it felt, how _right_ it felt, that he hadn't really thought much beyond that.  
  
  
  
“ _So_ jealous. The most. You should tell him I have a fiancé. _I'll_ tell him if it'll get him to leave you alone.”  
  
  
  
“It's not like that,” Phil says again, stupidly.  
  
  
  
Jamie gives him this considering look.  
  
  
  
“New relationship, is it?” He asks. When Phil opens his mouth to explain – maybe even to tell Jamie the truth – he continues. “It's fine, honestly. Just means he's into you. As long as he's not, like, weird or overly possessive then it's cute.” He pauses. “He's not overly possessive, is he? Are you in a bad situation?”  
  
  
  
“No, oh my God,” Phil says, laughing a little in nervous disbelief.  
  
  
  
“Good,” Jamie says. “I was worried then. Part of me was, like, picturing you blinking SOS at me along the table and me not getting it at all.”  
  
  
  
“No,” Phil says, firmly. “Everything's – everything's fine.”  
  
  
  
Jamie nods, giving his hair one last look in the mirror.  
  
  
  
“Race you to the cheesecake,” He says.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
“It's not real,” Dan says, later.  
  
  
  
He thinks that maybe he should've kept an eye on how much Dan was drinking at dinner. Actually never mind that, he should've kept an eye on how much _he_ was drinking at dinner. All the glasses of wine bled into one another after a while, and Phil doesn't even _like_ wine all that much.  
  
  
  
“What's not real?” Phil asks, trying not to slur his words. The pair of them flopped down onto the freshly made bed when they got in, fully clothed, and neither of them have made any attempt to move since. Phil just feels warm and happy lying here with Dan, their hands and shoulders brushing occasionally.  
  
  
  
“Love,” Dan says, and it takes Phil's brain a second to catch up. “It's not real.”  
  
  
  
Phil turns to look at him and he's looking back, voice low like he's telling a secret. It sends a thrill through Phil that he hates more than anything in the world. Part of him wishes he could lie here and look at Dan and feel nothing more than platonic fondness.  
  
  
  
“Dan...”

 

“It's not! It's like the moon landings, like – all the stuff we see that people say is love could be, like, a set or something for all we know.”

 

Phil frowns, lost for a second.

 

“Wait, wait,” He says. “Are you trying to say the moon landings weren't real? Because they were definitely real, Dan.”

 

“You _say_ that,” Dan says, with something akin to a manic gleam in his eye. “But there's just the footage. Nobody really _knows_ if that's real or not, do they?”

 

“They do,” Phil says, slowly. “They absolutely know that. People have actually gone to the moon, Dan.”

 

“But how do you _know_?” Dan says, then laughs at the look on Phil's face. Phil grabs one of the stupid pointless cushions that's digging into the side of his head and bashes Dan in the chest with it, laughing too. “I'm serious!”

 

“You need to spend less time on Reddit,” Phil says.

 

Dan just holds his palms up like he's surrendering, which means Phil's right. He knows he is.

 

“And love's real too. Bloody _moon_ _landings_ , Jesus Christ, Dan.”

 

They're quiet for a moment, Dan's smile fading.

 

“You reckon?” He asks, softly.

 

Phil looks at him. He really, properly looks at him, the way he constantly doesn't let himself for fear of giving himself away. He looks at the flyaways in his hair and the red smear of pasta sauce from dinner still crusted on his chin, and the way the spring sunshine's brought out his freckles lately. He looks at the warmth of his eyes and the slow, sleepy way he's blinking. He looks at his pale, clever hands, folded together on his chest, and his stupid flaky dry lips. All the lip balm Phil's ever bought him must be in a drawer somewhere in his flat, untouched.

 

“Yeah,” He says, more quietly than he'd intended. Coughing, he adds, “Definitely. Like, of course love exists. Your parents and your-”

 

Dan scoffs.

 

“I don't mean _that_ kind of love,” He says. “I know my _mum_ loves me, I mean, like – the other kind. I've never – if it exists then where is it, you know?” He holds his arms out, dramatically, like he's inviting love inside him or something, gesturing at his chest so it knows where to go.

 

“There's someone out there for you, Dan,” Phil says, patiently.

 

“Right,” Dan says, voice heavy with disbelief. “Except I've never met anyone that I – anyone except _him_. And now I'm not even sure if I...” He pauses. “It's like what I thought I was feeling's like, become a habit, you know? It's like I was so used to saying I was in love with him and now I'm here and I can speak to him and he's a real person again I'm – I dunno anymore. I dunno.”

 

Horribly, painfully, hope blooms in Phil's chest.

 

“See,” He says, encouragingly. “That's you getting over it, right there. It's good that we came.”

 

“Maybe,” Dan says, haltingly. He pauses. “How are you so sure love exists, anyway?”

 

Phil feels warm all of a sudden, a flash of heat lighting him up for a moment.

 

“Just a romantic, I guess,” He says, shrugging.

 

“I mean, like, same,” Dan says, watching him. His gaze feels horribly intent – it's an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “I want love to exist, like, so badly. I want kisses in the rain and all that shit, even if it's pathetic-”

 

“It's not pathetic,” Phil says.

 

“-but like, how do you know? Have you ever, like, been in love with anyone?”

 

And there's a moment when Phil could save the whole situation. He could make a joke about his maths teacher from when he was fifteen, or his girlfriend at university. He could snort and say, _I wish_. But he doesn't, he just sits there, caught like a deer in headlights, Dan's gaze illuminating him all of a sudden.

 

The silence stretches on from seconds to years and Phil sees in excruciating detail the exact moment that everything falls into place for Dan. His eyes widen and his relaxed pose changes, everything about him immediately becoming closed off and defensive, like he thinks Phil might leap on him.

 

Everything happens very quickly after that.

 

“Oh.”

 

“It's not,” Phil says, his face burning. “It's not – I'm not – I just.”

 

“No,” Dan says. He sounds anguished. “Jesus _Christ_ , Phil, no way.”

 

Phil swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling like his mouth's full of needles. He has a hysterical notion of holding his arms wide and saying _ta-da_ , but he feels like that'd only make the situation far worse.

 

“I don't,” He repeats, stupidly, incomplete sentences falling off his tongue. “It's not – it's not like that.”

 

Except it's too late, because Dan's sitting up and pulling his knees close to his chest. Phil sits up too, putting some distance between them on the bed before Dan can do it himself.  
  
“What else is it like, Phil? Why didn't you ever _say_ anything?”

 

Phil laughs then, high-pitched and hysterical.

 

“'Cause,” He says, gesturing at Dan, at his horrified expression and the distance he's put between them. “I knew you'd never, I knew...” He falters. “Why would I ever say anything when I knew nothing'd ever come of it? W-why would I?”  
  
  
  
“You should've told me,” Dan says, and he sounds almost angry. Phil thinks of what Jamie had said earlier – _it just means he's into you_. No, it really didn't. Phil should've known that all along.  
  
  
  
“It's not your business,” He says, feeling defensive and angry all of a sudden, head swimming. “It's my problem. I was just – I'm still gonna – it'll go away by itself. That's - that's what I think, and – and that's how I'm dealing with it. I didn't need to tell you 'cause it wasn't important.”  
  
  
  
“ _Not important_ ,” Dan repeats, derisively. “You – you agreed to come here, you – you pretended we're _together_ -”  
  
  
  
“That was only ever to help you,” Phil says, even though he knows the truth sounds hollow and fake now. “I never – I wouldn't have -”  
  
  
  
It's like he's falling down the rabbit hole straight into a nightmare. The look on Dan's face is worse than anything he could've ever thought of – he looks hurt, betrayed, angry.

 

Disgusted, Phil's brain supplies. He looks disgusted.  
  
  
  
“I'm sorry,” He says, and clumsily gets off the bed. He staggers a little, hitting his leg on the fancy old dresser under the window and barely noticing the pain.  
  
  
  
“Phil, no,” Dan says, suddenly sounding regretful. “You don't have to – where are you gonna go?”  
  
  
  
Phil just shakes his head. He knows he has to leave because he's gonna cry, and he can't cry in front of Dan. Dan'll just cry too, and Phil can't imagine a bigger mess than having to comfort Dan because _he's_ heartbroken.  
  
  
  
He fumbles with the door handle stupidly. Dan protests, saying his name, but he doesn't move from where he's sitting on the bed.  
  
  
  
He'd rather be alone, Phil thinks. Everything's ruined now.  
  
  
  
It's only when the door clicks shut behind him and he's halfway down the hallway that he realises he's left his jacket and his phone behind. He keeps walking, feeling like the world's crashing down around his ears.


End file.
